


Your Anger from Way Across the Sea

by fiorediloto



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 15:51:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21273746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiorediloto/pseuds/fiorediloto
Summary: They don’t kiss much, or barely ever. Nix will initiate a kiss when his blood’s running hot and he’s close to coming in Dick’s fist and that, for whatever reason, makes him feel soft and needy like a swooning girl. They kissed once after Nix was struck down by a bullet, and once to celebrate VE-Day. They kissed in a foxhole, desperately, amidst exploding trees.





	Your Anger from Way Across the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Today is my first _Band of Brothers_ fanniversary, counting from the day I posted my first fic [Swap Snow for Leaves](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16489865). It's been an amazing year and I love this fandom so much, so in order to celebrate I wrote myself a smuttier, happier sequel.
> 
> Thanks to [Muccamukk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/pseuds/Muccamukk) for beta-reading at the drop of a hat!
> 
> Title from Florence + The Machine's _Sky Full of Song_.
> 
> For LLSS prompt: "Dick in his Class A uniform, Nix naked and giving him a blow job".

Like many things in Nix's life, it goes completely unplanned. 

It is neither the craziest nor the most absurd thing Nix has ever done. It is, if anything, completely in character—though later he will not like thinking about it in these terms. _Later_, once he's sobered up, he will tell himself that it was the booze. But for now he's not sober. He's hungover, and hard, and heartbroken, and—most relevant to the case—down on his knees.

Time bounces forward in snaps and flashes. Nix looks up from the matter at hand, eyes skimming over the dull plains of olive drab, unable to divert his gaze left or right, like a horse with blinders. The frame of the buckle catches his eye; next it's the glimmer of a golden button; next, the perfect dimple in the man's regulation tie. A pair of white teeth flash forward to cover a freckled lower lip, biting hard.

Nix stops himself before he can meet the other’s eyes, half-afraid of what he might find up there, and forces his gaze down to the hard cock he’s unceremoniously pried out of the man’s pants not a minute back. Its thick, swollen head peeks brazenly out of Nix’s fist. There’s a glint of wetness on it, translucent and harmless-looking like morning dew. Nix scoops it up with the tip of his tongue, experimentally, and feels it clinging and stretching thin before breaking. It has no taste, but this late in the night, most things don’t.

“Lew,” Dick croaks—not a graceful sound. His right hand shoots down to cup around Nix’s ear and four fingertips scratch at his scalp. Dick thumbs Nix's cheekbone, his touch unusually rough, but he can be forgiven this one because he’s hard, oh so hard, and that is entirely Nix’s fault.

“You’ve got no shame,” Nix growls.

“What—?”

“A man so much as glances your way, you drop your pants.”

Dick chuckles. He’s holding himself upright against the table behind his back, not quite sitting on it, one hand gripping the side for balance. 

“My pants are still on,” he replies.

“Don’t get cute with me,” Nix snarls, giving Dick’s cock a warning squeeze.

“All right,” Dick promises, a touch breathless.

Nix bends his head back to Dick's cock, where the little bead of precome has formed again, and this time instead of licking it he closes his lips around it, sucking. Dick makes a hissing sound like he's been hit by shrapnel.

“How long?” Nix asks. When Dick doesn't answer, he gives his cock a second squeeze, a little more viciously this time. “How _long_?” he demands again.

“Nix—come on,” Dick breathes, pained.

“You want it or not?”

Dick swallows, then nods slowly. His cheeks are flushed, eyes liquid with desire, and Nix is reminded that for all his stoic countenance and inhuman levels of self-restraint, the man has wanted this for a long, long time.

“Two weeks.”

Nix’s face shoots up, teeth bared. “You _son of a_ _bitch_.”

  


\+ + +

  


What makes it so infuriating is hearing it from someone else.

For reasons unknown, Colonel Strayer takes it upon himself to be the bearer of this particular bit of bad news. And as it is often the case with the man, it doesn't even cross his mind that he might be overstepping or doing something that will have consequences.

They cross paths at the local pub that regimental HQ has elected as the new officers’ club. Nix is not at home there, not that he ever felt he was in the vicinity of Regiment, but he was tipped off about a load of Vat 69 just in from the black market and suddenly Göring’s precious wine looked like fruit juice.

Strayer intercepts him when Nix has already placed one elbow on the counter. The owner, a lanky Austrian man, nods at Nix in recognition.

“Ah, Captain Nixon,” Strayer says by way of a greeting, walking up to the bar.

“Sir,” Nix salutes sloppily. He orders a whiskey neat, eager for a sip.

Strayer frowns lightly. It’s relatively early, seventeen or eighteen-hundred, and Nix sees his hangover noted and reflected in Strayer’s judgmental scowl.

“How are things back at battalion?”

Nix is tempted to shrug, but he forces his shoulders down. Earlier, when this side of the war was still on, he would feel his impatience mount at this sort of question, but now he can truthfully say that he doesn’t care.

“Same old, sir.”

Strayer nods as if there was a real answer to consider. “And how are you, Captain? Major Winters treating you well?”

Nix is fully aware that as far as Strayer is concerned, he’s fallen from grace a long time since. He used to be the colonel’s pet project, hand-picked from the ranks and introduced like a debutante to the high society of battalion and regimental staff. Strayer used to call him by name, routinely dropping the title with the familiarity he reserves to his small circle of friends and protégées.

The irony is, Nix has been a member of high society for as long as he can remember, and he’s never liked it one bit.

“I’m all right, sir, thanks.” Nix grabs his shot and downs it quickly. He leaves a handful of schillings in its stead, but he doesn't bother counting them too closely.

“A word of advice, Captain,” Strayer says, dropping his voice a little. He leans on one elbow on the counter. “You’ve got the points, you fill the papers now. Get on the next ship home. Don’t wait.”

That gives Nix pause. “Yes, sir,” he answers slowly, hoping that that will be the end of the conversation.

But Strayer is not the kind of man who can have confidential information and not brag about it at least a little bit.

“You don’t want to find yourself shipped over to the Pacific, do you?” Strayer smiles, friendly enough, but Nix doesn’t like that smile. There's malice to it, an obvious desire to hurt, and at the same time there's something that's entirely too soft—too akin to pity. “No decent drinks over there.”

For God's sake, Nix thinks. That’s rich coming from the man who had every wine cellar in Bavaria vacuumed down to the last drop.

“No, sir,” he answers tightly. He turns half of his body away from the colonel, ready to walk out. “If you'll—”

“Thought so. You're not the type, are you?”

“—excuse me,” Nix continues between gritted teeth, “I’ll—”

“Of course, some of us have _applied _for a transfer. Matheson, Hester...”

Nix is already at the door, but Strayer is still talking. He can imagine the little, self-important smile stretch on the colonel’s mouth at every step Nix takes.

VE-Day didn’t bring any soldier back from the dead, but it sure did wonders for Strayer’s confidence.

“... Winters.”

  


\+ + +

  
  


“I wasn’t going to keep it a secret,” Dick says.

Nix smoked him out of Harry’s billet, a lovely house just across the road from Dick’s place. The other Easy officers were there—Lipton, Welsh of course, Speirs—drinking and smoking, while Dick stood by the window, water in his hand, his pinks and greens fitting his body snugly like he’d been born in them. He looked relaxed, like he didn’t have a care in the world, certainly not like a man who, having failed the first time, had applied for a second chance at getting slaughtered.

When their eyes met, Dick’s face changed. Nix didn’t know what he’d expected, but what he got wasn’t it. Dick’s cheeks flushed, turning pale, freckled white into light pink. As if answering a silent summons, he walked over to the door where Nix was standing with the new whiskey sitting in his belly and yesterday’s hangover still hammering his head.

Nix turned around, headed out, and Dick mutely followed.

“Sure, you would've come and said goodbye, huh? Or sent a postcard. Greetings from fucking _Tokyo_.”

“Can we not talk about it now?”

Dick’s right hand is still cupped around Nix’s ear. Nix shakes it off like an unruly horse, anger and booze coursing through his veins, mixed with something that he recognizes in a flash of understanding as _fear_.

“Lew,” Dick adds softly.

Nix is tempted to be difficult. After all that was the plan, being difficult, but that was before Nix’s eyes had fallen on the pristine fold of Dick’s trousers. What he actually did was drag Dick back to his spacious bedroom with the balcony overlooking the Zell, hastily lock the door, push him against the desk, and in another one of those time flashes, Nix found himself on his knees before he quite knew what he was doing.

The good news is, he’s finding that he rather likes Dick from this viewpoint.

He bends his head down, taking Dick's cock into his mouth. It feels too big, but also smooth and unthreatening, like a domesticated animal. Nix lets the head roll on his tongue and then tentatively strokes the underside with a few careful licks that draw a sharp sigh out of Dick, the sound heartfelt and most gratifying. He does it again and again, until the sighs takes on a throaty quality.

“Mm,” Nix hums, pulling his head back. Dick's cock comes out of his mouth with a wet pop that would make even Nix blush if he weren’t too far gone to care. The head is red and swollen and glistening wetly in the falling light, something to be proud of, Nix muses. He almost gets back to it right away, but in the intervening silence he hears Dick swallow thickly, loud as a bang, and Nix suddenly remembers that he's very, very angry.

He pushes his weight back onto the balls of his feet.

He's hot: he can feel his undershirt stick to his back like a wet rag and a couple streams of sweat merge and pool in the valley under his throat.

He sits back on his heels, keeping his balance with a minor struggle, and starts unbuttoning his shirt. When it becomes clear that he's going to take his sweet time with it, Dick shifts his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably.

“Nix—”

He pushes down his suspenders and pulls the tails of his shirt out of the waist of his trousers.

Dick runs a hand through his hair, bending his head backward.

“That looks painful,” Nix observes tipping his chin at Dick's erection, as if he just noticed it. He throws his shirt to the floor and gets his undershirt over the top of his head. His dog tags tinkle, caught in the fabric, then fall back heavily on his chest. “You should do something about it.”

“Are you going to be like that?” Dick mutters, casting a glance downwards. He hasn't moved, his head still thrown back and his fingers in his hair like a lamenting figure under the Cross.

“Mostly.”

Dick tears his hand away with a jerk, letting it fall to his crotch. His mouth parts a little when he touches himself, and Nix licks his lips reflexively. Now that he’s got himself started, he’s unsure what kept him from trying it for so long. He follows the slow pumping of Dick’s fist around his cock, listening to the soft, pleased huffs coming out of Dick’s nose.

He unbuttons his trousers, fishing his own cock out of his underpants, and this is very familiar for a second, the two of them jerking off together—they go as far back as OCS, before everything happened—but it’s not enough. Dick runs his thumb over the slit of his cock, making it wet and spreading the tears of precome all over the head. He angles his cock, offering it to Nix’s mouth, and bites his lower lip expectantly.

Well, hell, Nix thinks, opening up. It tastes different now, more salty after Dick’s sweaty palm has run over the length, and Nix takes it in as far as he dares without poking at his hangover-induced nausea, in and out a few times until all the salt is gone. He is distantly aware of his own hand inside his pants, the slow-building pleasure crawling into his brain like a ray of sunshine through the fog, but all of his primary attention is on Dick. He lets the shaft slide out of his mouth and dips his head under, between Dick’s flies, nuzzling the soft, hairy texture Dick’s balls, then venturing his tongue out. Dick moves the fabric out of the way and the gesture makes one nut roll on top of Nix’s stretched tongue. Nix sucks at it softly.

Dick lets out a choked sound. “God,” he grunts, his pelvis thrusting forward blindly. His cock brushes against the side of Nix’s face, tracing a wet trail over Nix’s cheekbone.

Nix pulls back and wipes his face, studying his fingers with some interest, then wipes them off on his lap. 

“Bed,” he growls. When Dick doesn’t comply, either because he hasn't heard or because he’s still mesmerized by the sight of his semen on Nix’s face, Nix slaps Dick's thigh, bending his head with an impatient jerk. “Now.”

Dick finally moves and Nix follows, kicking off his shoes and shedding his trousers and underwear along the way. Dick must be hot too at this point, judging from his flushed face and the beads of sweat hanging on his temples, but when he sits on the foot of the bed and lifts his hands to the first button, Nix pries them away.

“Summer in Tokyo,” he snarls. “Better get used to it.”

Dick desists. He lets his hands fall on Nix’s naked hips instead. His gaze runs appreciatively over Nix’s chest and abdomen and down to his legs, with such a flattering look that Nix lets himself be pulled onto the bed astride Dick’s lap, and before he’s processed where the movement inevitably ends, his mouth is on Dick’s and they’re kissing.

They don’t kiss much, or barely ever. Nix will initiate a kiss when his blood’s running hot and he’s close to coming in Dick’s fist and _that_, for whatever reason, makes him feel soft and needy like a swooning girl. They kissed once after Nix was struck down by a bullet, and once to celebrate VE-Day. They kissed in a foxhole, desperately, amidst exploding trees.

This is something else. This is Dick’s urgent hand on the back of Nix’s neck, pulling him down with a grip that won’t relent. Dick’s tongue is in his mouth next. Nix moans softly as he sways forward and their cocks brush against each other. Dick's other hand sits on Nix's hip, weighing him down, warm and possessive as if to make a point.

Nix pulls back to look at his friend, suddenly struck by a realization that he finds written all over Dick’s handsome face. He can only wonder what Dick sees on his.

He pushes Dick down on his back. The bed creaks and the soft mattress dips like jelly under Dick’s weight. Nix crawls off of Dick’s lap, staggering on his feet, and paws at Dick’s belt and trousers until he can summarily pull them down. He kneels on the floor, making himself comfortable between Dick's legs.

It is possible that he pictured a scene exactly like this once or twice. He had plenty of time to think of things he’d never, ever do while they were stuck in that frozen forest—as innocent a pastime as any, and it wasn’t like it _meant _anything, now was it?

This time, when he takes the other back in his mouth, Dick tenses all over. Nix feels, sees Dick’s impossibly strong thighs contract and relax. Dick drags himself up on an elbow and Nix feels Dick’s gaze pierce a hole in his forehead. He looks up to meet that gaze, defiantly. When Dick thrusts his fingers in Nix’s hair, Nix lets himself be guided, gently at first, then with increasing urgency as Dick’s fingers grab a fistful of hair and pull and sure, Nix can take that, in fact he might have pictured _that _too in one of his lucid foxhole dreams.

Dick’s face is a work of art when he comes, blood splotching his neck and cheeks like a rising wave. Nix catches only a small glimpse of it before he needs to look down and focus on what he’s doing, on not making a mess of it, not so much because he cares about Dick’s bed or Dick’s floor, but because Lewis Nixon believes in a job well done.

“Come here,” Dick purrs when he’s got his breath back, tugging gently at a lock of Nix’s hair. No sooner has Nix started rising than Dick grabs his shoulders and pins him down to the bed. Dick still looks flushed and way too smug considering that he’s done precisely nothing to contribute to the whole story, if you don’t count pushing Nix into a metaphorical corner with his mind-boggling, propaganda-induced stupidity.

“Get that thing off your face,” Nix grumbles.

“What?”

“That grin. You’re in a world of trouble. I swear to—”

Dick kisses him again, this time to shut him up, and it would be almost gentle if it wasn’t so strong, so domineering. Warmth pools in Nix’s belly, spreading like a fire up to his neck. He rubs his hard-on against the hem of Dick’s jacket, and it’s too good and too rough at the same time.

Dick reaches down and touches him for the first time since Nix had him pushed against the desk, ages ago.

“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen,” Dick says. His eyes are bright, full of hope. Not even on VE-Day has Nix seen his eyes glimmer like that. “I’m going to take care of you. And then we’re going to talk.”

Nix huffs a laughter. “We’re _going to talk_?” he repeats. “What, you're my wife now?”

Dick’s smile doesn’t falter. His hand wraps around Nix’s cock, pumping it gently in his fist until a pleased sigh escapes Nix’s lips. He bends down, bringing his mouth to Nix’s ear, and kisses and licks the tender cartilage until the warmth that had ignited in Nix’s belly spreads out to every inch of his body.

“Sure,” Dick agrees. His hot breath makes Nix shiver to the core. Nix paws blindly at Dick's jacket, finding the opening between the lapels, and dips his hand inside until it rests under Dick's left arm, on Dick’s heart that's hammering away a marching tune.

“As for the honeymoon,” Dick continues, as the rhythm under Nix’s palm turns into a syncopated drumming, “I'm told Japan is lovely this time of the year.”


End file.
